


Olicity High School AU

by orphan_account



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: AU, Fanfic, highschool, olicity - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 03:18:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2566340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account





	1. Chapter 1

“You’re kidding, right?” Oliver couldn’t help but scoff at his English teacher, Mr. Hall’s, request, “You want me to tutor kids for extra credit? But I’m failing your class!”

“Yes, I realize that Mr. Queen. I’m old, not dense. But I also do, in fact, realize that you are only failing because you would rather joke with Mr. Merlyn and Ms. Lance constantly than hand in your homework,” Mr. Hall stared at Oliver over the edges of his thin-rimmed glasses, before pushing them up quickly on his nose.

“Despite your insistence on appearing idiotic—which I assume is an attempt at popularity, although one I do not understand— I know that you thoroughly enjoyed reading Wuthering Heights last year, did you not? I also know that many of the papers Ms. Lance has turned in have been in fact your work and not hers,” Mr. Hall shushed Oliver’s protests.

“Not necessary, I have long rejected the notion of you owning up to your capabilities. But you should know that at the rate you are going, you will fail senior year. You will not graduate, Mr. Queen. I am offering you an opportunity at extra credit—by tutoring this girl you will boost both her grade and your own. She asked that we keep this as private as possible, which I assume will be good for your, uh, how should I phrase this,” Mr. Hall gave a thoughtful rub of his chin, “street-cred?”

Oliver could barely hold in a chuckle at the term but considered Mr. Hall’s offer. He could tutor someone on a book he had, in fact, enjoyed (Although he had admittedly enjoyed most of the books they’d been assigned, despite pretending to have not read them). Nobody would find out either that he was helping this girl. And he wouldn’t fail out of school. 

“Alright,” Oliver agreed, nodding along, “Why aren’t we telling anybody though? Is she some stoner freak?” Mr. Hall gave Oliver a look at the label, but shook his head.

“Not at all. She’s highly intelligent, in every other area. It seems though that literature has stumped her, much to her annoyance. She hates not knowing things. Hence, the secrecy.”

Oliver just stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

“She’s a year younger than you. You probably don’t know her, she keeps to herself usually. Her name is Felicity Smoak.”

***

Felicity sat anxiously at a desk in Mr. Hall’s class that afternoon, tapping her pen absentmindedly and staring at the clock. School had gotten out at 3:00PM, and her and Oliver were supposed to meet right after. Or that’s what she’d thought.

The clock continued ticking as she waited in the abandoned classroom, reaching 3:45PM as the door finally swung open. Felicity was met with the confident smile of the one and only Oliver Queen as he sauntered over to the desk in front of hers, pulling the chair out and straddling it so he faced her with his elbows on her table.

“You’re late,” Felicity remarked dryly.

“You’re punctual,” Oliver replied.

“Isn’t tardiness supposed to be my thing? Being the delinquent that needs tutoring and all? We’re not just breaking cliche’s here, we’re destroying them,” Felicity said.

“I’m not a fan of cliche’s anyways,” Oliver replied, “Where are my manners? It’s nice to meet you. I’m Oliver Queen,” He struck out a hand that she simply stared at in return, annoyed.

“I’m pretty sure all manners went out the window when you were 45 minutes late for my tutoring session. Which, by the way, I’m not all that thrilled to have to even do, so if you could have the decency to show up to my couple of hours in hell , that would be incredibly helpful,” Felicity snapped, grabbing her copy of Wuthering Heights and flipping open a purple spiral notebook in between them.

She could feel Oliver’s stare on the top of her head as she wrote her name on the top of the paper out of habit, and titled it “Wuthering Heights Notes” with a quick line underneath. She finally looked up with a sigh at Oliver’s incessant gaze, only to be caught off guard by the almost sincere look in his eyes.

“I’m sorry I was late. You said you didn’t want anybody to know what we were doing and it took me awhile to shake my friends without them asking questions. I’ll make sure I’m on time from now on. Can we just start over?”

Felicity considered him a minute, studying his intense blue eyes boring into her own, the slight frown of his full mouth without a trace of the cockiness it held earlier. She didn’t know what had changed, but he seemed genuine now for some reason. Like he didn’t want her to dislike him. It was quite endearing, actually.

“I’m Felicity,” she said with a smile, but didn’t shake his hand, instead drawing his attention to the book, “Now I’m only two chapters in and I’m stumped. Like what the hell are they even talking about? I don’t even know who the main character is!” Felicity said.

“The first couple chapters are confusing before you’ve read the rest of the story. If you go back and read them after you’ve read the whole book, it makes a lot more sense. But for now,” Oliver reached in his back pocket, pulling out a battered copy of the same book, “I’ll help you understand.

Felicity watched Oliver flip through pages upon pages with notes scribbled in the margins.

“Tell anybody about how much I enjoy this and I’ll make sure you fail literature,” Oliver said, noticing Felicity’s curious glance.

“You wouldn’t do that to me would you?” Felicity joked back, surprised at the hint of flirtation in her voice. What was she doing? This was Oliver Queen for goodness sakes. He wouldn’t be caught dead with her. 

“You have no idea what I could do to you,” Oliver replied, and Felicity felt her face redden at his intense gaze. He couldn’t possibly mean… No… She was, well her. No. Not possible. He was just messing with her mind.

Felicity hastily turned her attention to the book, “So this narrator… is he a big part of the story?”

Oliver gave her one last look, before turning his attention to the book in front of him, describing the narrator for her. She tried to listen—really she did. But with Oliver Queen passionately talking about great literature, gazing at her with a slight sparkle in his eye, she could barely even think straight.


	2. Chapter 2

Oliver always found himself thinking back to their tutoring sessions after they went separate ways each afternoon; baffled by this girl he had never know existed. From the second she scolded him for being late that first day instead of melting under his charm like all the other girls at school, Oliver found Felicity utterly fascinating. 

She always had on bright pink lipstick despite her apparent lack of interest in any other makeup products. Her eyelashes though, were as dark as her eyebrows, providing a strikingly gorgeous contrast to her brilliant blonde hair. She had a habit of plucking her glasses off her face when she was thinking really hard about something he was trying to explain to her and would nibble on the earpiece when she was especially overwhelmed by an idea he threw her way. She wore a dress or skirt every day, but never seemed overdressed for something as mundane as school, as she held herself tall and casual. Like she could fit in anywhere. Despite her endless babbling and outward nervousness, she was somehow incredibly confident. Well, except when it came to the mystery that was Emily Bronte and Wuthering Heights.

“I just don’t understand,” Felicity whined one day, “Heathcliff is a total asshat and he is incredibly depressing, but he’s somehow this epic romantic hero? I don’t think so. What girl needs a man with that much baggage? But then I guess he’s a good pair for Catherine because she’s a spoiled brat! All of the characters are absolutely nuts! I don’t think there’s a single one I like,” Felicity said, throwing the book down on the desk that sat between them, as Oliver always sat straddled in the chair in front of her, like that first day. She pushed her glasses up her nose offhandedly—yet another habitual act Oliver found himself mesmerized with— and crossed her arms in front of her, pouting a bit in annoyance.

“That’s the point Felicity. Their personalities are all exaggerated—it’s supposed to make the reader see the faults in these kind of behaviors,” Oliver said, “As a sort of…warning, almost. It links their excessive character traits to the fact that they live apart from society, making it seem like a cause and effect. Sort of.”

Felicity stared at him in bewilderment, “That’s absolutely nuts,” she stated, going on a rant about how silly literature was to have all these different means, and that it should really just tell people exactly what it wanted to say and be done.

It went like that almost every day though—with Felicity throwing a mild temper tantrum over being intellectually trumped, and Oliver continuing to explain whatever chapters she had read the night before, until all the sudden Felicity would light up in understanding. Oliver could never tell what exactly made her grasp the concepts—whether it was his teaching or her brilliance, but she always ended up joining in the conversation or debate with him. By the end of each day Felicity understood the section they covered almost as thoroughly as he did. 

They worked well together, he noticed. As much as the pairing shouldn’t have worked, it did. Where Felicity would falter in understanding, he would pick up, asking her a question with the answer already in it, sending her rambling once again in analysis. Where he would miss a connection, she would offer an innately brilliant idea that he would further exuberantly. But it wasn’t just the book they made sense of together—it was everything. They talked endlessly even after they had exhausted the current chapter of Wuthering Heights until one of them begrudgingly had to leave, the people close to them grew more suspicious of these unexplained lapses in time.

They were complete opposites; Oliver and Felicity. She challenged his every thought; countered every belief he didn’t even realize he had. They made each other think.

It was the way Oliver looked at the world through a clouded view—jaded by the tragedies he had poured over and the dark riches his family indulged in— while Felicity saw endless discoveries through science and technology. How Oliver was accustomed to his family’s fortune and the dramatics that came with it while Felicity lived for the nights when her mom worked only the day shift and they were able to eat cereal together on the couch, watching whatever rerun was on HBO that night. How she was Jewish and he had never gone to church once in his life. Even little things, like how she loved the green and yellow skittles, while he only liked the orange, red, and purple.

She was light from head to toe— all bold colors and light laughs—and he was made up of dark tones and rumbling chuckles. She was as selfless as he was selfish. As driven to succeed as he was content with what he had.

But as they talked, two sets of sapphire eyes taking each other in, it didn’t mater that none of it made sense. That none of it quite added up. All that mattered was that with each brush of her arm against him, his blood ignited in awakening. With each laugh they shared, he longed to leave behind the dark hallways of his mansion and embrace the very light she emitted. She made him hope. She made him want more.

And slowly, the student became a teacher as well, and somehow they were equals—him and Felicity. He helped her in english, and she helped him with everything else. She scolded him for his disconcert at his school work. Pointed out his intellect.

“You can do more,” She would chanted, “This life, with you living off your parents… You just… You could do more.”

And for the first time in Oliver’s life, he believed he could.


End file.
